


The Family You Make

by Dark_Sinestra



Series: DS9: Sub-Prime [29]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Canon Related, Canonical Character Death, Established Relationship, Family Drama, Friendship, Intrigue, Introspection, M/M, Medical Procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 09:09:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19002721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Sinestra/pseuds/Dark_Sinestra
Summary: A visit from a Cardassian dissident has Julian questioning whether he will ever recover what he lost in Internment Camp 371. Garak finds himself drawn more deeply into attachments he never asked for but cannot break, and the shadow of the Dominion stretches ever longer.





	The Family You Make

**Part I**   
_Julian  
The Infirmary_

Julian glanced over his shoulder and asked Nurse Frendel, “How much longer on the chemosynthesis for the stabilizer? I believe I have enough antigen for us to begin Trial Four.” It was a particularly tricky challenge to take on an Anchilles Fever vaccine. Now that he was no longer obliged to hide the scope of his talent, Starfleet had reopened several previously discontinued projects and failed experiments with the hope he could do what others had not. It was pressure, yes, the sort under which he thrived. He couldn’t be happier with the new direction of his work.

Frendel glanced at the readout. “Another four minutes, twenty-two seconds. Enough time for me to hit the refresher?” he directed a hopeful look his way.

Julian blinked in surprise. Had they truly been working straight through for close to six hours without a break? He supposed they had. He offered a vague smile and nod, waving him away. Trials One through Three sat neatly packed in their vials, awaiting cryofreezing and shipment to their respective bases.

Just in case Frendel didn’t make it back in time, he prepared himself to combine the newly formulated stabilizer with the waiting Rigellian adjuvents, hoping it would solve previous problems of hyper-degradation and resulting incompatibilities with the antigen. His comm badge chirped. He tapped it without taking his attention from the end of the cycling.

“Doctor, I have Major Kira and a male Cardassian named Tekeny Ghemor asking to see you,” the other day nurse said. “I told them you said you couldn’t be disturbed...”

“No, it’s all right. Please, show them into exam room two and tell them I’ll be with them as soon as I can.” He recalled Dax mentioning something about Ghemor heading for the station at Kira’s behest. The political climate on Cardassia was more dangerous than ever for dissidents. He hoped he hadn’t been injured while trying to leave.

Frendel returned with about a minute to spare. Julian passed his PADD to him and showed him where they were in the trial sequence. Everything was far enough along to trust him to complete the batch, label it properly and get it all in cryofreeze. “After this, let’s go ahead and shut it down for the day. We’re a day ahead of schedule. I’m not concerned about our timetable.” He clapped the Bajoran on the shoulder and stepped into the corridor.

He could hear Kira’s voice through the door and a softer rumble of a reply. He keyed the chime to let them know he was there just before stepping through. She squeezed Ghemor’s hand and moved away. “I promise you’re in good hands with Doctor Bashir. I’m going to be sure your things make it to your quarters so you can settle in. I know it was a long trip.” The look she shot Julian on her way out was a worried one.

“How can I help you today?” he asked. A quick visual scan showed no signs of trauma or injury.

“Doctor Bashir,” Ghemor said pleasantly, inclining his head. “It’s a pleasure to see you again after all this time. I’m afraid I have some bad news. I’ve been diagnosed with Yarmin Fel Syndrome. My doctor’s prognosis wasn’t good, although I’d welcome a second opinion.”

“Of course,” he said, nodding and moving to the cabinet to fetch a syringe. “I’ll just need a blood sample. What symptoms are you currently experiencing?” He prepped a tray with a disinfectant wipe, hypodermic, vial and the dermal regenerator. “Please have a seat on the exam table.”

The Cardassian nodded and perched on the edge of it, one foot still on the floor, one dangling. “The shooting pains began about three weeks ago. Sporadic at first. Now...” He grimaced and gave a soft gasp, “Not so sporadic.”

Wiping the back of his hand with the wipe for several seconds, he took the opportunity to examine his eyes, noticing the widened pupils and slightly yellowed sclera. “About how far apart would you say?” he asked. He took care with the hypodermic, a gentle insertion and draw, followed by a quick pulse with the regenerator.

“Every few seconds.” Ghemor winced again.

“Lie back, please?” He inserted the vial into the sample port and returned to stand beside the exam table. A few careful prods showed him what concerned him. Ghemor’s abdomen was painful and swollen, as were the ridges of his face and neck. “All right,” he said. “That’s enough of that. I’m sure you’ll agree, yes?” He smiled a bit and offered a hand to help him sit back up properly.

“Yes,” he said breathlessly. “Thank you.”

The computer beeped once, the light on the panel flashing a soft green. He held up a finger and crossed to the monitor, reading the display with a sinking feeling. Yarmin Fel Syndrome was always fatal. Ghemor’s case seemed to be advanced. Turning back to face him, he said, “I can’t refute your diagnosis, I’m afraid, but there is a treatment I can try that could give you another week or so if you’d care to go that route.” He hated having to give this sort of news. In his experiences with Garak and Tain, he had no reason to believe Ghemor would appreciate anything but the blunt, unvarnished truth from him. “And of course, I can set you up with a biobed in your quarters for pain management and monitoring your responses.”

Ghemor looked neither hopeful nor resigned, taking the news with the sort of stoicism Julian associated with his people. “I’d like the extra time,” he said simply, “if it’s possible. I have much to tell Nerys, and...it’s good to share her company again.”

Julian nodded. “All right. Then I’ll start you on hexadrin therapy as soon as we can get all of the equipment we’ll need to your quarters. In the mean time, I’d suggest doing as the major suggested, settling in and getting some rest. We’ll be along shortly.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Ghemor inclined his head once again and stepped out into the corridor. Julian followed behind, first ducking into the lab to make sure everything was still going well for Frendel. He saw him carrying a tray of vials from his work station to the cryochamber and left him to it.

After he caught up with Ghemor, he walked him to the front. A security team awaited him and stood to flank him. He found out where they were taking him, asked them to be sure Major Kira knew to expect him and his medical team, then turned to begin the preparations for setting up a remote monitoring system. For almost any other patient, he would have likely insisted they stay in the infirmary. He knew better than to suggest any such thing to a Cardassian. No matter how polite or pleasant he seemed right now, he had no doubt he could turn every bit as intractable and stubborn as any of his other former patients from Prime if pushed toward something he didn’t want to do.

Fortunately, they still had a decent supply of hexadrin from when the Detapa Council sheltered with them temporarily during the Klingon conflict, and it was stable enough for an extended shelf life. On his way back to the supply stores, he stopped in his office to contact Garak. He felt guilty having to put him off for dinner after already having canceled lunch.

Garak seemed to know more about the situation than Julian ever would have chosen to tell him. He had long given up trying to discover how he did that. “This is about our guest?” he asked the moment he appeared on the screen.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” Julian said.

“Then it’s fortunate for both of us you don’t have to,” the tailor said. “More fortunate yet, I received an entire season’s worth of trade publications today. I have an evening of reading and planning next quarter’s inventory ahead of me. I’d have made poor company.”

He decided he liked Garak’s lies when they were for his benefit. Sometimes. “I look forward to seeing what you select. I think your taste is beginning to rub off on me. What do you think?”

“I think you should stick to what you know, and trust me to help you with what you don’t,” he said, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. “Tread carefully, Love. Ghemor’s intentions may not be malicious, but he has powerful, dangerous enemies.”

“Have I met a Cardassian yet who doesn’t?” he asked dryly. “Of course I’ll be careful. Your concern is touching.” He meant the latter, his smile warm and reaching his eyes. “See you late tonight.” He disconnected before he could be tempted to find a reason to prolong the conversation. _Hard to believe that after all this time, you can still have such a profound effect on me,_ he thought, shaking his head. _I could talk to you for hours and never tire of it._

He arranged for Ops to transport the heaviest equipment with the day nurse to begin setting it up. He preferred not to transport the medication, packing the rest of what he needed into his case, informing Frendel he had the Infirmary until he could return, and heading out onto the Promenade.

When he reached the guest quarters, to his surprise, he saw Ziyal standing out in the corridor with the two security guards. She brightened when she saw him and lifted a wave. “Hi, Julian.”

“Hello. Why are you standing out here? Are Nerys and Ghemor inside?” He hadn’t known that she knew Ghemor. Perhaps she had met him during her brief stint living on Prime.

She pressed her lips together slightly. “They are. My father and Ghemor are bitter enemies. I don’t care about that,” she added quickly. “But...well, Ghemor might. It’s better if I just stay here. Nerys is letting him visit with Kirayoshi. I’m waiting to take him when they’re done, so she can stay a while longer.”

“Did they ask you to stay out here?” he asked, frowning.

She shook her head. “No. Julian, please, just don’t. I had more than my fill of Cardassian culture when I lived in Cardassia City. This is important to Nerys, so if I can support her with this, I will. I don’t need to insert myself into a situation that has nothing to do with me.”

“If you’re sure,” he said uncertainly.

The door hissed open, and Kira stepped out with Kirayoshi in her arms. She smiled over her shoulder and called, “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

Ziyal stepped up to take the baby a little awkwardly in her arms. “Like this, right?” she asked.

Kira laughed and nudged her. “You worry too much. You’re fine with him. Yes, exactly like that.” She headed back into the guest quarters and returned with his supply bag. “Everything he needs is in here. I saw the chief pack it myself. Diapers, wipes, powder, his bottle plus a spare, his pacifier, a couple of toys, and a spare blanket. If you need anything, I’m only one hail away.” She mimed patting over her badge without touching it.

Julian helped Ziyal get the bag tucked over her shoulder and retucked the blanket around Kirayoshi’s feet when he noticed a tiny sock toe protruding. “Got it?” he asked.

She nodded, shot both of them what she probably thought was a confident looking smile, and headed off down the corridor, bouncing and talking to the baby on the way. Julian watched her retreat and said to Kira, “Did you know she was scared Ghemor wouldn’t want anything to do with her because of Dukat?”

Kira nodded and frowned. “Yes. I tried to tell her Tekeny isn’t like that. She wouldn’t listen. She said she didn’t want to stress him out. I’m worried about her, Julian. I don’t know what I can do, though. She won’t talk to me about it. I think she worries she’s a burden, and no matter how many times I try to tell her she’s not, it doesn’t get through to her.”

“I’m sure it’s difficult for her, given the relations between both halves of her heritage. No Cardassian will really accept her, besides Garak, I mean, and few Bajorans besides people like you and Leeta. As long as Dukat has washed his hands of her, she has no family to speak of. After growing up in that camp, I can’t imagine how difficult it is to adapt to a place like this.” He was having enough problems fully readjusting to life here. How much worse would it have been had he suffered captivity for years? And if they had been his formative years?

“Have you talked to Garak about it?” he asked.

“A little. I also had him talk to her. It didn’t go so well.” She waved him toward the door. “We can talk about all of this later. I can tell he’s tired. I want to make sure he has everything he needs before letting him get some sleep. Have you ever heard of the custom of Shri-tal?”

He nodded. “It’s a large conceit in Cardassian literature, the sharing of grievances and knowledge of enemies with family so that they can exact revenge after their loved one’s death.”

“I’ve agreed to do it for Tekeny,” she said. “I’m nervous. I don’t have such a great memory. He has said he’s OK with me recording it. Is it going to damage him to do this? Should I have put him off about it?”

He took her hand for a brief squeeze. “Nerys, he’s dying. Whether he rests or not, if he doesn’t respond to treatment, we’re talking a matter of a day or two. I’d say help him spend it as best as he sees fit. If that means talking with you for hours about things that might be of use to Cardassian dissidents, I can think of few better for the role than you.”

She looked away, her brow furrowing. “All right. Call me in when you’re done setting up.”

“I will.” He chimed the door and waited to be invited in. The equipment was mostly set up already. He and the day nurse made quick work of the rest of it, then he made certain all of the appropriate monitors were attached to Ghemor and he was comfortable. He set up a steady drip of hexadrin through one port, a strong painkiller through another.

“All right. It looks like you’re good to go here,” he said, putting on his cheerful doctor face. “I’m going to show Nerys how to help you so that when the two of you start talking, you’ll have no interruptions and no reason to hold anything back.”

“Before you do that, if I could have a moment alone with you, Doctor?” Ghemor asked. Already, he looked more relaxed from the introduction of the painkiller into his bloodstream.

“Of course.” He nodded to the day nurse to leave and waited until he heard the door close behind her. “What do you need?”

“Is it true that you’re involved with Garak?” he asked bluntly.

Had he not dealt with things like this so much from Garak, he believed his surprise would have been much harder to control. “It is,” he said briskly, “and I can assure you it will not affect my treatment protocol for you in any way.”

Ghemor waved an impatient hand. “Your reputation is solid throughout the quadrant. I’m not worried about that. I’m concerned for you. You seem to be a good man. Will you take a bit of advice from someone who has seen a few things in his time when it comes to people like Garak?”

He wanted to tell him to mind his own business. He couldn’t say precisely what held him back from it or why he offered a curt nod. “I’ll hear you out. I can’t promise I’ll take the advice, whatever it is.”

“Fair enough,” the Cardassian said, lying back against the prop of his pillow. “The Obsidian Order may be broken for now. Its shadow is long and deep, Doctor. Whatever you think you know about him, you will never know the worst of it. Whatever he tells you, you should never fully trust. Whether he loves you or doesn’t, he was trained to be a weapon. I’ve never seen a weapon yet that has a good use as anything else, especially a Cardassian weapon. I hope I haven’t angered you. I couldn’t leave that alone in good conscience.”

“I’m not angry, no,” he said. “All I can say is that I’ve seen things, as well, things you haven’t, and that I believe there’s a good chance that in this case you’re wrong.”

“I hope you’re right,” he said. “I sincerely do. Please, tell Nerys I’m ready for her now.”

“I shall. Good night.” He offered him a nod and left, sending Kira in behind him. He didn’t want to mull the words he offered so earnestly. He couldn’t help himself. He didn’t believe for a moment the man was lying or trying to mislead him. Doubtless, he did know things about the Order, Garak as well, that would make his blood run cold. However, he had to believe that people could change and rise above and beyond their upbringing, that Garak could. Otherwise, he could never have fallen for him as hard as he had, repeatedly. Could he?

_Garak  
Private Quarters_

From everything he had managed to glean over the past several days, Garak was reasonably certain that the Ghemor they now hosted on the station was the real Ghemor and not a changeling. It didn’t mean that there was no reason for concern. Neither his own people nor the Dominion willingly gave up their enemies easily. It was almost certain that someone would come in pursuit of him. He didn’t have to be in the thick of politics on Prime to take an educated guess about who that might be. His study of his trade magazines wasn’t as absorbing as it could have been. 

Eventually, he abandoned them for a new enigma tale and gave over to the challenge. He enjoyed Ogen a great deal. His touch for the ironic in particular was both subtle and satisfying. His door chime drew him out of his second hour of reading. A glance at the chronometer showed him it was too early to expect Julian, and he wouldn’t hail him like that, anyway. He’d simply let himself in. “Who is it?” he asked, instantly on guard.

The wailing that came over the reply set his teeth on edge. “It’s...ugh, Garak, it’s Ziyal. I have Kirayoshi with me, and he won’t stop crying. Can we please come in?”

“Of course,” he said. He set his PADD aside and stood.

As soon as the door hissed open, a wall of noise assaulted him. Ziyal quickly came inside, looking frazzled and on the edge of panic. “I don’t know what to do. Jake is on Bajor for a story. Chief O’Brien is still working, and Nerys is with Ghemor. I’ve checked his diaper, I’ve tried to feed him, tried to rock him. I knew this was a bad idea.”

He reached for the infant and took him into his arms just to give her a break from the stress of dealing with him, not that he had any particular hope that he’d be better at calming him. He felt the tension in the little body, the boy’s face blotchy red and tear soaked. “Well, it sounds as though you’ve done everything any reasonable person could try,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the screams. “You can hardly be faulted if whatever he wants is outside of the scope of what you’re able to give.”

She covered her ears and grimaced. “He’s been at it for nearly three hours now. I don’t want Nerys to come home and see him like this. Or worse for Chief O’Brien to think I neglected him.”

“From what I understand, the chief is all too familiar with this issue,” Garak said. “Why don’t you go to the refresher for a few minutes? Splash your face, take a little time to collect yourself. I’ll do some research and see what I can find.”

The look of relief that washed over her would have been comical if she hadn’t seemed so distressed. “Thank you!” She shrugged a large satchel from her shoulder then hurried into his bedroom and had the computer shut the door.

Garak glanced dubiously down at the bundle of misery squirming in his arms. “Computer, scan Earth files for the most effective ways to calm a human infant who is not in need of food or a diaper change.” Just to be certain, he checked his diaper with one finger. Dry, thankfully.

The impassive voice rattled off several options, but the most intriguing was a particular hold. Well aware of the effect that various positions could have on a body for interrogations, he thought it made eminent sense that certain positions would also be calming to the parasympathetic nervous system. He carefully flipped him over to face downward, supporting his chin and jaw gently in his palm and allowing his body to lie across the length of his forearm. He kept his other hand at his bottom and let his legs splay to either side. Within less than ten seconds, Kirayoshi quieted, his body beginning to relax.

Slowly pacing with him and giving him a few gentle bounces, he felt him relax further. The drool was unattractive and unfortunate. He could live with it if it meant not having his ears shattered by the piercing cries. He took a moment to tuck both of his little hands in against his chest rather than letting them dangle. The infant sighed a drowsy, comfortable burble and sank down into his hold like a wet bag of sand.

Ziyal tentatively returned to his living area with her eyes wide. “How did you—” she began.

“I didn’t. The computer provided the solution.”

She looked embarrassed. “I didn’t even think to try that. I was just so nervous. I never want to be a parent.”

“You’re young yet,” he said, moving to his couch to sit carefully. It seemed as long as he kept him supported at the proper angle, he wasn’t going to take up his battle cry yet again.

“It’s not my age,” she said severely. “It’s bad enough being a half breed. Can you imagine what it would be like for any child with an even more confused heritage? It’s not like I could ever hope for a Cardassian or Bajoran husband, not that I’m thinking about marriage right now.”

He hated hearing that term coming from her mouth and suspected he knew where she learned it. There had been Cardassians with her in the labor camp. He knew better than to argue with her. She was in no place to hear it. It would only serve to shut down the conversation altogether, and since he hadn’t had much opportunity after their last debacle, he was in no rush to do that. “Nothing says that one needs to have children to live a fulfilling life.”

It seemed to be the right answer. She stepped closer to him and sank to a perch on the edge of the sofa cushion. “I wouldn’t know how to be a mother, not really. I mean...I remember my mother, how much she loved me, how normal she tried to make my life despite the fact it was anything but normal even before the crash. I can’t make my own life normal. I can’t begin to imagine how to do that for someone else.”

“No one says you have to,” he said. He risked shifting the baby to his back and into the crook of his arm. He was settled enough now to accept it and shoved his fist into his mouth to gum. “If you never choose that life for yourself, there’s nothing wrong with that, Ziyal. Don’t ever let anyone try to tell you otherwise.”

“You’ve done well for yourself,” she said with a faint smile that died quickly. “Would you tell me about your mother? You never mention your family at all.” Immediately, she adopted a more anxious look. “I mean...you don’t have to. If it’s a bad subject, I don’t mean to pry.”

He wanted to throttle Dukat. Ever since his rejection of her, her confidence had taken a hit. “My mother did the best that she could for me in a difficult situation,” he said.

“Is...is she still alive?” she asked, turning more to face him.

“She is,” he said with a nod. “Alive and well, although I haven’t spoken to her in some time. It’s safer for her that way, especially now.”

“I’m glad. I’m not glad she could be in danger. I am glad she’s alive. She must be so proud of you. I would be if I had a son like you.” Her smile came more easily, and he saw some of the sparkle in her that he had come to love so.

It was humbling to have that kind of power in anyone’s life. “I vex her,” he said, his answering smile wry. “I always have.”

“Well, you can be difficult.” Her grin turned impish. 

“Your gift for understatement does you credit, my dear.” He glanced down at the baby, still awake and watching both of them with the fathomless fascination of the very young. It was no leap to imagine Ziyal at that age. How Tora must have worried, her situation as difficult and dangerous as Mila’s. Ziyal’s touch to his knee brought him back to himself.

“Nerys looks at him like that sometimes, when she thinks I’m not looking,” she said quietly. “I feel so bad for her. It’s not that the O’Briens are mean or ever deny her the right to spend time with him, nothing like that. But she carried him inside her, and then she had to give him away like none of that ever mattered. I don’t think I could do that. I may not want to be a parent, but if I carried someone inside me? I could never let them go.” Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears.

_You’ve had to let go of far too much for one so young._ He took her hand with his free one and gave a warm squeeze. He knew there was nothing he could say to that and that none of it was really about Major Kira or Kirayoshi, or not just about them. 

She relented and sank back onto the sofa to settle her head on his shoulder, twisting their hands so that she could lace fingers with him. “Why is Nerys so close to Ghemor?” she asked.

“I’m afraid that’s a question you’ll have to ask the major,” he said. It wasn’t his to tell, all of the ugly business about Iliana, the mind games, the cosmetic surgery and false memories. He wasn’t sure what was more surprising to him, the fact that Ghemor maintained his attachment after all of the facts came out or that Kira not only kept in touch with him but seemed to encourage the closeness.

She accepted his answer without argument and shifted a bit to look at the baby. “You’re so good with him. You’ve really never wanted a family?”

“One doesn’t have to want to hold a baby to know how to do it properly,” he said. Nothing about it felt natural. Having such a small life in his hands was an uncomfortable feeling. He was too aware of how easy life was to break.

“If you truly feel that way, then I think you were smart not to have children. I wish more people had better judgment.” There was a bitter note at the last which he didn’t like at all.

He made a point of making eye contact before replying. “I want what I have,” he said, pleased not to have to lie or exaggerate in this instance. “You are more resilient and kindhearted than anyone else I have ever met.” He squeezed her hand again to forestall interruption. “You would not have been so had I raised you. The only thing I know about raising children is what not to do, and that’s not good enough.”

“I used to get mad when you said things like that. I wanted...well, you know what I wanted. I’m... I’m glad you didn’t take advantage of me. Since being with Jake, I realize it would have been...really weird. Sometimes I get mad at myself for still wanting anything to do with Father at all. I think about the time I spent with him on the ship, just the two of us. I was so happy. I could have lived the rest of my life that way.

“It’s so obvious now he never felt the same about me. If he did, he could never have abandoned me just because I wouldn’t leave without knowing what happened to you. It’s not logical to care what he thinks, and I try so hard not to.” She closed her eyes. “I know you say you’d have been bad at it. I still wish you could have been my father. Then I wouldn’t feel so guilty about how safe I feel when I’m with you.”

He had no words for what hearing such a thing did to him, no name for the feeling in his chest, both heavy and light at once. He settled for providing such comfort as he could. “You’re not the first child to chase after the approval of someone who doesn’t deserve your loyalty,” he said a bit cryptically. “Try not to be too hard on yourself for that.” Glancing down again, he saw that Kirayoshi was finally asleep. “If we’re careful, we can get him settled in his blankets on the floor, and perhaps we can get in a good game of Kotra before Julian comes back.”

“You and Kotra,” she said, rolling her eyes with a fond expression. She stood to fetch the board. “I think you just enjoy feeling superior to the rest of us and beating us all the time.”

“You couldn’t be further from the truth,” he countered, also rising more slowly and carefully. He crossed to the satchel to dig through it one handed and pull out the spare blanket. “I look forward to the day when you match or beat me.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.” She took the board to the table to begin setting up. “If anyone is going to do that, my bet is on Leeta. She ropes me into it whenever she gets the chance. Nerys, too. It drives her crazy.” She giggled and glanced over toward his progress. “Need any help?”

He shook his head and decided to make the little blanket bed right beside the table so that if he did awaken, one of them could get to him before he could work himself back up to crying. He laid him down on his back before slipping his hands from beneath him and straightening. Letting out a soft breath of relief, he turned to help her finish the set-up.

It wasn’t long after that Julian came in to find them in the middle of the game. Garak held a finger to his lips the moment he came through the door and pointed to the floor. Julian had to circle his sofa to see what he was talking about, his brows lifting in surprise. “I never thought I’d see you babysitting,” he said softly.

“He’s not,” Ziyal said. “Unless you count me as one of the babies. I couldn’t get Kirayoshi to stop crying. Garak came to the rescue.”

“Miles should be off work by now,” Julian said. “I don’t mind taking him home. It looks like you’ve a way to go with your game.”

“That’s really sweet of you. Thank you,” Ziyal said, beaming.

“Yes, thank you,” Garak added. If Kirayoshi awakened, he didn’t want Ziyal under further stress. She’d had enough for one evening.

He watched Julian gather him. He showed no signs of the discomfort he had felt. He wondered if that was because he was a doctor or if he felt more inclined toward children. It wasn’t a conversation either of them had ever broached. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, reflecting that perhaps he feared to hear Julian would like to be a father someday, or worse might take him bringing up the subject as a sign that _he_ wanted to be.

“I’ll be back in a little while,” the doctor said, shouldering the bag and heading back out again.

After the door hissed shut, Ziyal said, “I’m glad the two of you are back together. I think you’re good for each other.”

“Oh, we’re discussing our romantic lives, are we?” he asked a bit archly. “In that case, I want to hear about you and Jake.”

She grew instantly flustered, dropping her gaze. “That’s not fair. I wasn’t trying to pry.” Her mouth firmed, and she lifted her gaze again. “But all right. If I can talk about it with anyone, it ought to be you.” She folded her hands together on the table. “What do you want to know?”

He hadn’t expected that, the tables turning and him on the spot. In truth, he had always believed he should respect her right to privacy as long as the boy wasn’t behaving badly. “Does he make you happy?” he asked. It was all that mattered to him about it.

“He makes me laugh. He listens to me. He has all these plans for himself that I like to hear, and he supports my art. He doesn’t treat me like I’m half of anything, or like I’m Gul Dukat’s daughter. I like spending time with him and his father. The captain is very gracious to me, and he loves Jake so much I can’t help but to be happy when I see it. It’s like...sitting in sunlight.” She tipped her head. “Anything else?”

“I’m not so sure you won’t beat me at Kotra one day,” he said simply. She had won that challenge, hands down.

“I don’t want to beat you at anything.” She swept her pieces up in her palm and set them in their designated cubby. “I never have. I just want to be able to talk to you without constantly hitting a wall. Don’t try to say it’s for my own good. Caring about me doesn’t give you the right to decide that.”

He sighed and swept his pieces into their storage cubby as well. “Old habits die hard. Do you think you can be patient?” There were certain things he’d never reveal, no matter how much she wanted to know them. He thought perhaps it couldn’t hurt to be a bit more open. It wasn’t as though he and Julian were a secret.

“I think you know I will be, whether I like it or not.” She stood and folded the board, fastening the clasp.

He stood and moved to take her by the shoulders. “No. If you don’t like anything, you have the right to say it. You don’t have to tolerate treatment that you don’t care for. I’m not going to turn my back on you for anything you say or for getting angry with me.”

She nodded without meeting his gaze.

He reached to tip her chin up until she did. “Ziyal?”

She gave him a long, searching look before nodding again. “I hate when you deflect about things that shouldn’t be a big deal. It feels like you don’t trust me. Please don’t say you don’t trust anyone or that it’s foolish to trust. We both know better.”

She was so much better than he deserved. Why she loved him so fiercely was a mystery to him. He skimmed his hold down her arms to take her hands around the case. “I’m glad I’m with Julian, too. He is good for me. I’m not sure I can say the reverse is true.”

“The sad thing is that I believe you mean that.” She leaned forward to peck his cheek. “And you say I’m too hard on myself. Good night, Garak. Thank you for tonight. I don’t just mean with Kirayoshi.” She released the case into his grip.

“You can always come to me. You don’t need an excuse.” He stayed in place for a few breaths after she left, absorbing the novelty of wanting to be straight with someone for their sake rather than any ulterior motive and admiring Ziyal’s strength for being able to do the same after all she had suffered.

When Julian returned, he showed him some of the trade magazines. He wasn’t ready to speak of anything weightier after the emotional night. Julian seemed to be in a similar head space. He wondered if things were as serious for Ghemor as his sources indicated. If so, he braced himself for what was to come. He knew that his father’s death haunted his lover, knew that he felt responsible despite the fact he had likely prolonged his life past what most would be able with twice the resources. He readily acquiesced to Julian’s request to go to bed. It was one of the rare occasions he was glad it wasn’t a euphemism. They were both asleep within minutes.

**Part II**   
_Julian  
Ghemor’s Quarters_

Observing the readouts from the past nineteen hours, Julian wasn’t pleased. He didn’t like Ghemor’s vitals. He should have been more stable by now if the hexadrin therapy was working. It was too soon to make that call aloud, though. He was willing to give it a few more hours. Instead he focused more on what he could control. “How has your pain been?” he asked, setting aside the medical tricorder.

“Better than before I arrived here,” Ghemor said. He looked exhausted lying against the pillow pile propping him up, but his blue eyes held a peaceful light. “Nerys’ company is a balm to my spirits.” He added in a faintly playful tone, “Not to say that your pain medicine isn’t playing its part.”

Julian felt himself smiling in spite of himself. He leaned in closer and said, “Usually, it’s the doctor focusing on having a pleasant bedside manner, not the patient.” These Cardassians he found himself tied to in various ways somehow always got under his skin. Despite all of his many flaws, even Tain had managed to earn his grudging respect before the end. Ghemor was cut of finer cloth. It hurt being able to do so little. It was an unpleasant reminder of that helpless time. His smile quickly faded.

“If I may say so,” Ghemor said, “your concern is more personal than I’d have expected.”

He jerked back in surprise. He’d have to stop forgetting that spies and members of the military weren’t the only Cardassians with an uncanny ability to read human expressions accurately. “No doctor likes to see his patients suffer,” he said, turning his focus to the biobed and the current dosage of the medications.

“I didn’t come to Deep Space Nine expecting a cure, Doctor. I came to do what I could for Cardassia in my final days and to spend them with the only family I have left. To that end, your help is immeasurable.” His eyes followed his movements, a searching look.

He sighed. What would it hurt to have a more candid conversation? “Sometimes your people are a mystery to me,” he said, thinking of Tain and how he treated Garak up to the bitter end. “Culturally, you value family so deeply, and yet I’ve seen so many parents behave in hurtful ways. Dukat and Ziyal, for example.” He didn’t dare speak of Garak’s situation. It would be an unforgivable breach of his privacy.

He regretted the effect his words seemed to have on his patient. Immediately, Ghemor struggled to sit up straighter and wouldn’t be satisfied until Julian helped him do it. When he spoke, he sounded winded just from that small effort. “Many in Central Command are good parents, good fathers,” he said. “Mine was. Dukat is a poor example of any sort of Cardassian. Procal Dukat, for all of his faults, would be ashamed of what his son has become.”

He coughed into his hand and slowly succumbed to the pull of gravity, leaning back into the pillows. “He did that child a great disservice in bringing her to Prime.”

“You knew of that?” Julian asked, wondering how widespread Ziyal’s exposure had been.

“Everyone in Cardassia City knew.” Ghemor’s voice grew gruffer. “Likely in most of the outer provinces, as well. It wouldn’t surprise me if it made it all the way to Lakarian City. It was cruel of him, self-serving. He likely believed that if he could control how the information reached the capitol, he could mitigate the damage. Pah!”

Julian made a slight adjustment to the hexadrin release and stepped back. “What happened?”

“Exactly what you’d expect. His wife and children denounced both of them on the steps of the courthouse. She flung her marriage bracelet at his feet. It was broadcast live on the feeds, an example of what happens to leaders who betray their people. That girl never had a chance in the feeding frenzy between those who hated Dukat and reveled in his downfall and those who genuinely despise any offspring of mixed races.”

He couldn’t imagine what that must have been like for her, surrounded by an angry, shouting mob, her father’s people, forced to endure scorn not of her making, feeling it wherever she went. He had no idea how much she minimized when she told him a little bit about it. He knew that Garak experienced similar pressure on the station from the Bajorans and many Starfleeters. No wonder the two of them bonded so quickly. He felt ashamed of his former jealousy and knew it had been small of him.

“How is she faring here?” Ghemor’s question drew him back to the conversation.

“Well, Garak and Major Kira have worked diligently to help her adjust. I imagine it’s still hard for her, especially since Dukat turned his back on her. She has had some success connecting to the Bajoran half of her heritage. I fear there is little of Cardassia for her here.” He worried he was violating her privacy in sharing any of this. He wouldn’t have with any Cardassian who didn’t seem so open to embracing others who weren’t of his blood.

“I’d be willing to speak with her,” he said, folding his hands loosely over his bed sheet. “I hate that all that she knows of Prime is intolerance and rejection. Our people...we can be so much better than that.”

He felt a surge of warmth for him, coupled with gnawing doubt that Ziyal might be too scarred from her experiences to take him up on the offer. “I’ll pass that along to her.” He hesitated.

“Go on, Doctor. I can see there’s more. You needn’t hold back.”

“Would you be willing to tolerate Garak’s presence? I’m not certain she’ll come without him, but I do think the visit could do her good. Not if his presence will cause you undue stress, however.”

He read the sudden hesitation in shadowed eyes and feared a, _No,_ that didn’t come. “Let me consider this,” Ghemor said instead, “and please send Nerys back to me. I’m ready to continue.”

_Replimat Café_

It felt good to have a relatively normal lunch with Garak after the heaviness of his conversation with Ghemor. He knew that he couldn’t indefinitely put off asking him if he’d be willing to accompany Ziyal to such a visit if she consented. He managed it for almost an entire hour, and his digestive system thanked him for it. He decided on an oblique approach more for the fact that Garak appreciated when he was convoluted than any belief that he wouldn’t do his best to help under the circumstances. “I’m concerned about Ziyal,” he said, toying with his spoon in his mostly eaten chocolate pudding.

“You’re not alone in your concern,” Garak said. He set his spoon aside entirely, all of his focus shifting to Julian with an intensity he’d have found disconcerting if he didn’t know him well.

“I had an interesting conversation with Ghemor.”

The steady gaze hooded slightly. “I just bet you did.”

He huffed a soft sound and half lifted his hand in appeasement. “It wasn’t about you. At least, not until the end. It was about Ziyal and her experiences in Cardassia City. She has told me a little about it over time. I never realized the...scope...of her rejection.”

“Never underestimate the collective will of my people for scorn, Doctor,” Garak said simply.

“So I’m coming to understand. May I ask you something with the expectation that you’ll be reasonably honest with me?” He set his spoon down, too, and laced his fingers on the tabletop.

“I’m always reasonable,” he said smoothly.

“Ha ha. Fine, no promises. I’ll just have to trust that your concern for Ziyal supersedes your need for duplicity. Ghemor offered to visit with her. Do you believe he’s trustworthy enough to do that without digging at her with some sort of hidden barb? There’s clearly no love lost between him and Dukat.”

“Or him and me. I can hear what you’re not saying quite well, thank you.” He sat in silence for longer than was his wont in facile conversation. Julian had to hope it meant he was deeply considering what he knew of the man and not concocting something outrageous. “Ghemor can be subtle. He is less of a fool than most of the Council members. I believe that if he saw some advantage for Cardassia in hurting Ziyal, he’d be capable of it. I don’t see where there would be such advantage. He doesn’t have a reputation for cruelty for its own sake. You can likely trust that this visit would be purely social.”

“Would you be willing to accompany her without being provocative?” Julian asked. He watched him far more closely for this answer. He would be extremely cross with him if he took the opportunity to upset his patient and angrier with himself for allowing it to happen.

Garak’s gaze left him to track someone on the Promenade behind him. His gray hand shot out lightning fast just to touch and gently squeeze Julian’s before disappearing under the table, unspoken communication for him not to turn. He waited until Dukat and Weyoun swept past with a Starfleet escort.

“I’m afraid your question just grew much more complicated,” Garak said, rising fluidly.

“What are you doing?” His heartbeat sped up. There were any number of courses of action he could imagine Garak choosing to take in this moment, none of them good.

“I’m going to find Ziyal. I don’t want her blindsided by her father’s arrival. Might I suggest you do the same for Ghemor and the major? If she has been sequestered with him for most of the morning, she may not be aware of our visitors.” He didn’t wait to hear his answer, striding away quickly.

He didn’t hesitate to take his advice, going so far as to have Ops beam him directly there. Both Kira and Ghemor gave a start. She stood and reached for her jacket hanging on the back of her seat. 

“I’m sorry for the interruption. You need to know Dukat is here with Weyoun. I saw them on the Promenade. Doubtless they’re going to ask Captain Sisko for an audience with you.”

Kira’s eyes flashed. “Let him try. He’ll have to go through me, no matter what the captain says.”

“No, Nerys.” Ghemor’s voice was weak but not the will behind the words. “I mustn’t refuse him. He’ll see it as weakness. I’ll hear him out, him and his vole of a Dominion minder.”

Julian frowned. “As your doctor, I have to advise you not to put yourself into an early grave over pride.”

Ghemor’s response wasn’t even slightly surprising. “This isn’t about me. It’s about everyone back on Prime counting on me. If I display weakness here, they’ll press them all the harder there. No, Doctor. I must see this through.”

“You won’t be alone,” Kira said, reaching to squeeze his hand.

He watched them with a sinking feeling, the familiar sting of not being enough. He desperately wished that he could return to his former stoicism and perspective when it came to losing his patients. It seemed that had died back in Internment Camp 371, right along with Tain.

_Garak  
Kira’s Quarters_

Ziyal’s warm smile at him across a parchment where she delicately painted a spiral with a steady hand and ink-stained brush made him ache. Garak straightened slightly and had the door lock behind him before approaching her. “Your father is on the station,” he said without preamble. “This is no social call. The Dominion wants Ghemor. I know you’ve been wondering how long he intends to stay angry with you. Are you ready to find out?”

She straightened as well, her chin lifting. She dropped her gaze to her brush, swirling it in a small glass of water near her hand. The ink swelled in limpid, jet blue blobs that blurred to stain the water a paler uniform shade. After gently squeezing the bristles with a soft cloth, she set the brush aside. “I think it’s telling that he didn’t send word ahead that he was coming,” she said.

He was proud of her in that moment for her poise, for not allowing emotion to run away with her and coming to a logical conclusion. “I don’t disagree,” he said.

She stood and circled the table. “May I stay with you for now?” she asked. “I don’t want to be found incidentally if he tries to visit Nerys. If we’re going to have a conversation, it’s going to have to be because he wants it, not because it’s convenient.”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. If for whatever reason it became awkward, he knew that he could easily stay with Julian for a few days. He doubted it would. She seemed well past any romantic feelings for him.

“I’ll pack my things.” She inclined her head and retreated into the bedroom.

While she was there, he composed a short recording for Major Kira so that she wouldn’t worry. He believed she would understand Ziyal’s reasoning and knew that if she had any objections to the girl’s staying with him, she wouldn’t hesitate to approach him about it directly. By the time she emerged with her satchel over her shoulder, he was waiting for her near the door. He gestured her out ahead of him.

As they walked the corridor together, he decided perhaps a distraction was in order. “I was just speaking with Julian over lunch about Ghemor,” he said. “He said that he might be interested to meet you, if you were amenable to the idea. Major Kira and I would be happy to accompany you, if you’re interested. We’d just need to be sure he didn’t see it as a ploy to get your father’s foot in the door with him.”

“I’d be more than happy to disabuse him of that notion, myself,” she said with a thread of steel in her voice. “If you think it’s a good idea, I see no reason to object.”

“Then we’ll figure out a time that would be good for him. I’m sure he’s tiring easily.” He stepped into the turbolift with her, the two traversing the rest of the distance in comfortable silence.

He cleared a drawer for her in his dresser so that she wouldn’t be living out of her bag and made some space in the refresher for her toiletries. While she settled in, he scanned one of his PADDs for a book he thought she might like. Despite outward appearances, he knew she was shaken by the news of Dukat’s arrival. He clamped down on his anger at him. Anything he said or did to that effect would only serve to agitate her, either toward making a scene and getting hurt worse or toward defensiveness for someone who didn’t deserve it. 

She emerged to find him seated comfortably on his sofa. He patted the cushion next to him. “It occurred to me that I owe you several hours of reading at the very least. All of those times you came to me while I was incarcerated, not to mention when I was in the infirmary.”

Her expression visibly brightened, and she hurried to settle at his side. He shifted to allow her more comfort in resting her head against his shoulder. Her smile up at him was bright and impish. “You should be careful. I could get used to this.”

“I can think of worse things.” He allowed a corner of his mouth to lift before launching into one of Preloc’s lesser known works, written before he gained prominence and recognition as one of Cardassia’s finest.

She stayed awake and attentive for longer than he’d have imagined she could. He became aware of the weight of her head settling against his shoulder and how her breathing evened and slowed. He decided to keep going rather than risk awakening her. She would need her rest for whatever the next few days might bring.

Only when he started growing hoarse did he stop. He hadn’t kept track of the time, certain it must have been a few hours by the stiffness in his limbs and a heaviness in his feet. As soon as his door slid open and Julian strode in with a thunderous look, he raised his finger to his lips and gestured toward his bedroom. Disentangling from Ziyal and leaving her propped against his sofa back wasn’t difficult.

Julian strode ahead of him and whirled to face him, not speaking until the bedroom door hissed shut. He was no less intense for his lack of volume. “Dukat has managed to poison Nerys against Ghemor. He showed her some old military records, and now she won’t set foot in that room. I have a fragile patient who doesn’t need this...this...horse shit right now, and she won’t budge.” He drew a shaky breath and rubbed his hands down his cheeks. “Is Ziyal all right?” the words came muffled from behind his palms.

Garak nodded. “As well as can be expected. She agreed to meet Ghemor. If he’s not too exhausted, perhaps now would be a good time. It sounds as though he could use the distraction as much as she.”

Julian nodded. “Go ahead and awaken her. I need a moment. I’ll meet both of you in the corridor.”

“Love?” Garak asked, turning to the side to regard him over his shoulder.

“Yes?” Julian asked, his brow furrowing.

“Breathe.” He shut the bedroom door behind him and approached Ziyal, hoping that they weren’t making a mistake.

_Julian  
Ghemor’s Quarters_

The moment he heard Ghemor’s feeble invitation for them to enter, it hit him. He hadn’t received his permission for Garak to be there. They hadn’t been able to discuss any of this further after Dukat’s arrival and the subsequent fallout from the major’s sudden rejection. The door slid open before he could stop either Garak or Ziyal. The former stepped in with casual confidence, the latter following somewhat timidly in his wake. Julian slunk in as a guilty third.

Whatever the Cardassian was thinking, Julian couldn’t read it. He put on a perfectly pleasant smile. “Garak,” he said, inclining his head, and then looking beyond him. “Tora Ziyal. Please, do come closer. I’m afraid my voice isn’t what it was. Now you must tell me, is it Tora you prefer?”

“Ziyal, please,” she said. “Tora makes me feel like my mother.”

Julian strove to stay in the background. He found an extra seat for Garak and said to Ghemor, “Just pretend I’m not here. I have medical notes to take and would like the chance to monitor you directly for a while.”

“Ziyal it is,” Ghemor said. He nodded to Julian to show that he had heard him.

Just when it seemed everything was about to turn awkward, Garak offered in his most pleasant tenor, “I can’t say why, but for some reason I’m reminded of that ball you and I both attended years ago. The spring that year was unusually mild. I think all of us were under its spell. Not a single dowager stormed away in protest, and to the best of my recollection, no new feuds came out of the festivities.”

Ghemor chuckled. A little more light and life came into his tired eyes. “I know exactly the one you’re talking about. It wasn’t a week later my Iliana was born. Kaleen gave me such a hard time for leaving her at the house to go off ‘galavanting,’ as she called it. Then again, when didn’t Kaleen like to give me a hard time?”

“Kaleen was your wife?” Ziyal asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” Ghemor said. Once more, he beckoned her closer. “Scoot your chair forward, dear. I’m having a hard time hearing you. Don’t be afraid. I’m not contagious.”

“I didn’t think you were.” She did as he asked. Julian noticed Garak watched more closely than he let on. He wondered if Ghemor could see it, too. “I just didn’t want to presume. I know that you and my father—”

He shook his head and gestured her silent. “You aren’t your father. I’m sorry Iliana can’t be here. It must be very tiresome for a talented young artist to be stuck in a room with three stodgy older men reminiscing about the old days. You know, I went to your gallery opening.”

“You did?” her eyes widened, and she glanced over at Garak. His faint smile was encouraging. “What did you think? Please be honest. I never get good critique around here. Everyone is afraid of hurting my feelings.”

His quiet laugh turned into a phlegmy cough. He waved away Julian’s solicitousness but accepted a tissue from Garak. “Is it that you don’t get decent critique or that they aren’t as critical as you think they ought to be? Artists are always hardest on themselves in my experience.” He carefully wiped his mouth and balled the tissue in his palm. “To answer your question, your talent surprised me. I’ve been keeping up with...with Nerys.” His expression fell momentarily. He recovered himself. “I have been studying Bajoran culture ever since we met. Your work encapsulates something of their spirit in a way I can’t fully describe. It speaks of Cardassia, as well. So unexpected, given how little of us you must have experienced up to that point.”

It was astonishing to see how quickly she warmed up to his ailing patient then. Neither he nor Garak had need to fill in the spaces. They spoke like fast friends. She told him at length of her influences, and he seemed both knowledgeable and genuinely interested in both her Cardassian influences and her Bajoran ones. He answered her questions about other parties, managing to make his anecdotes humorous and engaging, at times self-deprecating about how seriously his people took themselves. He drew Garak into the conversation a few times, enough to make it clear he wasn’t freezing him out or deliberately slighting him.

He hit a wall energy-wise, going from animated speaking to sudden sagging against his pillows. Ziyal stood immediately and took his hand between both of hers. “Let me talk to Nerys for you,” she said earnestly. “I can’t tell you how often I’ve seen her cover pain with anger. I can’t believe for an instant that she doesn’t want to see you anymore.”

“I can talk to her, too,” Julian offered. “Get her to see reason.”

Ghemor’s thick fingers closed around Ziyal’s hand. He reached toward Julian without actually trying to touch him. “You are both incredibly kind, but please, no. Don’t pressure her. I don’t want her more distressed than she already is.”

“But she’s wrong,” Julian blurted. “And if she doesn’t see that, she’s going to regret it for the rest of her life.”

Garak stood and circled the foot of the bed. He put a hand to Julian’s shoulder to guide him with him, and the other to Ziyal’s to draw her back and away. “I believe that’s enough excitement for now,” he said. He stopped walking when the two of them started toward the door on their own and turned back to face Ghemor. “Might I have a few words with you alone?”

The older Cardassian slowly nodded, looking wary but unafraid. He glanced past Garak to meet Julian’s gaze. It was all right. Reluctantly, Julian guided Ziyal out into the corridor. They said nothing in front of the security detail, and he refrained from asking Garak what it was about after he joined them later, despite intense curiosity. He’d only lie to him, after all.

They had a pleasant if subdued dinner in Garak’s quarters. Julian helped Ziyal make a bed for herself on Garak’s sofa. He hugged her good night and retreated with Garak into the bedroom, shutting the door behind them.

“Would you be more comfortable in your quarters?” the tailor asked, finally dropping his facade covering his exhaustion.

“No,” he said. He began stripping from his uniform and crossed to the dresser for his pajamas. “I don’t want her feeling any more isolated than she already does. I can’t believe Dukat hasn’t tried to ask after her or set up a meeting. The bastard.”

“I love you when you’re protective,” Garak said. He drew him into his arms before he could finish stripping down the jumpsuit. The top of it curled down over his trousers like a shirt tied around his waist by the sleeves.

“I could say the same thing to you,” he said. He felt some of his tension melt in the warm hold. It felt so good to be drawn against his sturdy barrel chest and to know that in that moment, he couldn’t possibly be any safer. “Thank you for what you did for Ghemor tonight.”

“I didn’t do it for Ghemor,” Garak said. He tipped his head up slightly and kissed him with warmth and fondness. “You’re welcome, nonetheless.”

_Garak  
Bajoran Temple_

Thoughts of Tolan intruded so much after they turned the lights out that Garak decided it was better to dress again and leave than toss and turn keeping Julian awake, or risk awakening Ziyal by moving about in the dark in his living area. He’d left a recording set to trigger should Julian awaken alone in his bedroom. He knew where he wanted to go without knowing if he should.

He could smell a faint trace of incense drifting from the darkened entrance to the temple. Light and sound behind him from Quark’s kept him from feeling completely like an intruder. It wasn’t so late to be out and about. Before he could talk himself out of it, he darted into the opening and walked the short distance through the foyer into the temple proper.

He spotted Kira kneeling close to the front with both of her hands resting palms up on her thighs. Her tense posture spoke of something other than prayerful meditation. He deliberately scuffed his sole against the carpet. She whirled with a startled expression that gave way to flat annoyance. “Odo and Julian have already lectured me,” she snapped. “You’re crazy if you think I’ll hear it from a Cardassian, too.”

He continued his approach and took a seat on the pew closest to her, letting his eyes travel about the unfamiliar room and linger in the shadows to be sure no one lurked there to overhear. “If you think I’m here out of concern for Ghemor, I’m sorry to disappoint. He and I have never seen eye to eye, I’m afraid.” He let his gaze settle on her once more. “You are also more than capable of sorting your own feelings.”

“You’re damned right I am,” she snapped. “So what are you doing here, Garak? You don’t actually expect me to believe that you’ve suddenly found religion or wanted to speak to a vedek?”

“I’m merely curious to know how you think this looks to Ziyal.”

“Ziyal? What does Ziyal have to do with any of this? For that matter, how did you know I’d be here? Did Julian tell you what happened? He had no right!” She sprang to her feet, fists balled, and began pacing. “Nobody has any right to judge me.”

Garak remained silent. He doubted that anything he said one way or the other would do anything but agitate her further. He hadn’t come here to do that. He trusted that she’d see where he was heading with his question and wasn’t disappointed.

She slowed and jerked a hand back through her hair. “I can’t believe Dukat. Not one word about Ziyal. He didn’t even look around when he came to my quarters. One of her paintings was sitting right there unfinished on my dining table. All he wanted was to throw that poison at me, knowing fully well what would happen when he did. I can’t believe after all this time he’s still holding such a grudge against her. His own daughter.”

“That’s the funny thing about time,” he said mildly. “You never know how much of it you have, and once it’s gone, it’s gone.”

She cut him an irritated glance. “Speaking from experience?” she asked pointedly, daring him to expose a weakness.

“Yes, Major, I am,” he said. “I have no reason to expect that you’ll be willing to take advice from me, but I’ll offer it nonetheless. Be certain that this course of action is one you truly wish to take. If it is, I fully support your decision. I understand grudges. I have also come to understand that regret has an unfortunate tendency of outliving them, no matter how right they feel at the time.” He pushed to his feet and glanced toward the burning incense. “I’ll leave you to your prayers. I’m afraid that scent isn’t to my taste at all.”

He could hear Mila’s voice chiding him for being such a nosy boy. It was the same attitude she often displayed toward Tolan when he’d come home full of stories from the Tarlak Sector. He could have sat with him longer that day he insisted on giving him the mask, looking like one already dead without the sense to know it. Garak’s impatience had rasped against the moment with the sharpness of a diamond file. He’d had the gall to treat Tolan’s dying like an inconvenience to his busy schedule. He wondered if he’d made his passing harder with his stubborn indifference, a thick scab over his pain and anger at the long deception of his true parentage.

He thought of what Ghemor shared with him in obvious desperation that if someone didn’t hear it, no one would. It couldn’t have been easy putting what he did into Garak’s hands. He saw it less as a matter of trust than despair and frowned. Maybe there would come a time he’d tell the major, assuming she would ever be ready to hear it. He did understand grudges. He understood her better than he wanted to.

He let himself back in his quarters silently and without awakening either of the other two occupants. He didn’t have time to find sleep before Julian’s comm badge chirped to life with the dire news that Ghemor’s condition was rapidly deteriorating and that the doctor was needed right away. He let him go with a kiss and a promise that he’d be there for him when he returned. He wanted to tell him that he had done everything he could and that no one expected more of him, except he knew it wasn’t quite true. Julian expected more of himself and had been struggling with that ever since they fought their way back from that hellhole asteroid. Calling attention to it while he hastily dressed to witness another death would only exacerbate his pain.

_The Airlock_

Garak embraced Ziyal and privately marveled that she had tears for someone she had only so recently met. It was her gift and her curse to connect so quickly and fully to others. He had the feeling Ghemor was more deserving of it than he. He nodded to Major Kira, the silent gratitude in her look uncomfortable and unwelcome. If he’d had any part in her decision to see the ailing statesman toward the end, he felt it must have been minor.

He allowed Julian to take him aside while the two women stepped through the airlock on their way to the waiting shuttle. “Are you sure you won’t come?” Julian asked. “I don’t believe Ghemor would have been offended.”

He shook his head and squeezed his shoulder. “It wouldn’t be appropriate. Trust me when I say this way is best. My presence would only taint the occasion should anyone hear of it back on Prime. I’m glad Major Kira has a place for him. I shudder to think of where the Dominion might have put him or how they would use a state interment to undermine what he fought for.”

“But you didn’t agree with him,” Julian said, his brow furrowing.

“Times change,” he said cryptically. “Now go. The longer you linger, the more chance there is that you’ll be intercepted.” He waited until the airlock rolled shut and the shuttle took off before heading away and back toward the Promenade.

He spotted Dukat and Weyoun on their way into Quark’s and couldn’t resist the temptation to approach, all smiles and flashing eyes. “It must be frustrating,” he said, “having such terrible timing.”

Dukat glanced at Weyoun and scoffed. “Please, Garak. Ghemor’s legacy will be whatever we decide it to be. Such is the benefit of outliving one’s enemies. One conversation with the captain, and we can put all of this unpleasantness behind us and take Ghemor’s body home. Captain Sisko is a reasonable man.”

He graced him with a bland blink. “I wasn’t talking about Ghemor.” He didn’t know the body was en route to Bajor? To be a vole under that table when he found out. “You just missed Ziyal. Perhaps next time. I’m sure she understands you were busy.” He could see confusion and anger flitting across his sharp features. Good. He could think of few who deserved it more. He allowed malice to blossom fully in his smile. The only part of any of it that disconcerted him was the look of obvious approval and enjoyment in the Vorta’s strange purple eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one episode story, woven within the narrative of “Ties of Blood and Water.” It seemed kind of sad to me at the time that they did all of this marvelous exploration of Kira and her ties to Ghemor but completely failed to address Dukat’s breach with Ziyal when they had Alaimo right there. So in my tradition of writing what I wanted to see, here it is.


End file.
